


I Turned My Back on the Sun

by meowvelous



Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Vampire, M/M, Male-Female Friendship, Pre-Relationship, Pre-Slash, i wrote this instead of working, no beta we die like witchers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-19
Updated: 2020-05-19
Packaged: 2021-03-02 23:47:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,618
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24275344
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/meowvelous/pseuds/meowvelous
Summary: “There’s a Witcher in town,” Maja states, jumping straight to the point, all no-nonsense as usual.While his heart hasn’t beat for centuries, Jaskier would swear that he feels it stutters in his chest at those words. “Fuck.”-Jaskier is a vampire, laying low, making a living as a bard for a tavern. When a Witcher comes through town, thesensiblething would be to stay in his room for the night. But Jaskier is very good at loving things that could end him.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, Jaskier | Dandelion & Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 49





	I Turned My Back on the Sun

**Author's Note:**

> L o o k. I know this isn't an update to my other Witcher fic, but this jumped into my head and I wanted to hammer it out. I've got an idea for at least a second chapter, but we'll see; I might forget about it by the time I'm done with my other fic.
> 
> Anyway, hope y'all enjoy! Oh, and comments are much loved <3

There’s a knock on the door, jerking Jaskier awake. Which -- no, he doesn’t sleep in a coffin or a crypt or anything stereotypical like that. But he does have a room in the basement of the tavern, tucked in the back, windowless and blessedly dark.

Another knock. With a long sigh, Jaskier calls “I’m awake, I’m decent,” so the door swings open and Maja briskly stalks in. She carries a candle, and Jaskier tries not to flinch or hiss at the sudden light.

She rolls her eyes at him, unafraid after all the years of their acquaintance. “There’s a Witcher in town,” Maja states, jumping straight to the point, all no-nonsense as usual.

While his heart hasn’t beat for centuries, Jaskier would swear that he feels it stutters in his chest at those words. “Fuck.” It stings his professional pride that he can’t come up with anything more eloquent, but well, surely it can’t be held against him, circumstances considered.

Maja nods, expression grim. “He’s passing through, on another contract two towns over. He has no reason to come down here, and if he asks, I’ll do my damndest to keep him away. If you stay in your room, it should be fine.”

It’s a good plan, which Jaskier can’t find fault in, but for one detail. It’s the fifteenth of the second month, which means fresh ale is brought in. Fresh ale means more patrons, more patrons means more coin. Across his long lifespan, Jaskier has never mastered the art of living modestly, and his love of the craft is only half of the reason why he’s a bard. And while Maja doesn’t charge him room and board, after the life-debt her family owes him, Jaskier still finds ways to sneak coins into her purse.

He makes up his mind, and goes to grab his lute. Maja’s arm shoots out to stop him, her expression stricken. “Don’t.” She knows as well as he does why he’d want to perform tonight. “It isn’t worth it.”

Jaskier flashes a grin with a confidence that he doesn’t feel. “It’ll be fine.”

Knowing him, and his stubborn streak, Maja simply closes her eyes and mouths a prayer, before nodding. “But,” She warns. “Keep away from the Witcher.”

***

And it is fine, at first. He’d fed the previous night, trying to build up his stamina for tonight. The tavern is crowded with the people of the village, who are eager to hear him perform. That they weren’t sick of him and his songs yet, is deeply gratifying. As Jaskier begins to warm up, his eyes skip over the crowd, without really focusing on anyone in particular.

Until he sees the Witcher, that is. With his broad--everything, chiseled features, and amber cat eyes that are--staring right back at him. Jaskier can’t help the nervous swallow, yanking his gaze away. Hopefully tales of the Witcher’s senses are exaggerated; that over the din of the crowd, his lack of a heartbeat can’t be heard; that his scent of graveyard dirt and blood can’t be smelled.

For the first few songs, Jaskier is nervous, mind racing in a mantra of _be normal, be normal, appear human, for gods sake_. Then he loses himself in the music and the performance, and only surfaces when he realizes he’s finished the last song he’d planned to play that night.

There’s the usual chorus of cheers, the scatter of coin -- everyone here knows anything given tonight will be paid back into the village -- as Jaskier bows and puts his lute away, before picking his way over to the bar for a drink.

By the time he gets there, Maja - bless her soul - has poured him a glass. Jaskier goes to his pocket, to grab payment, but she stops him. He rolls his eyes and braces himself to enter a familiar argument -- when something about Maja’s expression stops him. “The Witcher,” and she could’ve found work in a troupe, the way she manages to keep her voice cheerful and calm. “Has paid for you already.” Only the rabbit-quick beat of her pulse betrays her nerves.

His surprise is soon outweighed by flattery, because, really now? Jaskier can’t help his smile as he glances over to the Witcher. Their eyes meet. He raises the glass in thanks, the Witcher nods, before looking away as Jaskier drinks.

And now, the smart thing to be, would be to retreat to his room for the night. Keep a low profile. But. By the gods, while he’s grateful for the life he’s carved out for himself, it does get so dreadfully dull. Jaskier misses the sun on his face, the open road, and he’s heard all the stories ‘round here a thousand times over. Surely, a Witcher would have tales to tell.

Decision made, he swaggers over, ignoring the quick nervous inhale of breath from Maja. He can feel her eyes boring into his back as he sits himself across from the Witcher. “My thanks,” Jaskier begins, “For the drink.”

“I think your girlfriend wants to end me.” The Witcher replies, voice a deep rumble, nodding at Maja.

Jaskier can’t resist turning around and shooting her a cheeky grin, using the wiggle of his fingers and the raising of his eyebrows, to remind her that he can handle himself. She gets the message, sighing and shaking her head as she goes back to work.

“Not my girlfriend,” Jaskier cheerfully corrects, because no use having that misinformation hanging between them. “Just a good friend.”

“Hm.” The Witcher takes a drink.

Taking advantage of the pause, Jaskier greedily takes in the appearance of his companion. Gods, it’s been a long time since Jaskier has wanted anyone this badly. Despite of - or maybe because of - the danger that the man across from him represents, Jaskier badly wants to go to bed with him.

Their eyes catch once more, and the Witcher breathes in deeply, his pupils dilating. For a moment, Jaskier thinks wildly that the jig is up, and he’s about to be beheaded by one of the silver swords on the man’s back.

Instead, “I can smell your want.” The Witcher’s expression is difficult to read, but going off instinct, Jaskier leans a bit closer with a smirk, chances licking his lips and watching the Witcher’s eyes follow the movement of it.

“I can’t smell you--” A lie, “--But I think you aren’t adverse to the idea.” Anticipation flickers to life in Jaskier’s stomach, as the Witcher’s grip tightens on his cup. And oh, this is a very bad idea, but Jaskier is very good at loving things that could end him. It’s how he ended up a vampire, after all.

“Upstairs, second door to the right.” The Witcher replies, standing. Jaskier blinks at him stupidly, thrown, until the other man adds, “Meet me there, if you want.” He moves to the counter to sort his tab, before heading upstairs.

Jaskier finishes off both their drinks, because he can, and they shouldn’t go to waste. Then he begins to waltz his way over to the stairs. 

When he moves past her, Maja grabs his sleeve. “Have you lost what remains of your mind?” She hisses, which, rude.

With a flash of fang, Jaskier smirks at her. “You only live once. Well, twice, in my experience. And the chance to bed a Witcher? How could I let that go by?”

“You’re an idiot, and you’re going to get yourself killed.” Maja states flatly, letting go. Then, because she’s his favourite -- “If he turns on you, stomp the floor twice. I’ll do my best to help you.”

Smirk turning to a soft smile, Jaskier brushes a kiss over her cheek. “You’re a goddess among men,” He brightly informs her.

Her smile is reluctant, but no less real for it, as she sends him on his way.

***

Jaskier knocks twice on the door before letting himself in. The Witcher turns, finishing the movement of taking off his loose black top. And gods, the expanse of skin, scars and muscles, makes Jaskier’s mouth water. The scent of him, the intriguing slow thrum of blood beneath the Witcher’s skin, is a secondary thought.

“So,” Jaskier begins, closing the door behind him and quickly crossing the room. “What’s the--” Plan, he starts to say, but is cut off when the Witcher pulls him into a bruising kiss.

For longer than he probably should’ve, Jaskier lets himself melt into it, the hot slide of another’s tongue against him. Finally though, he forces himself to draw back and act like he has to take a breath. “Your name,” Jaskier says, to distract the Witcher in case his acting is subpar. “What is it?”

“...Geralt.” The Witcher replies, perhaps realizing that they haven’t even exchanged names yet. He’s still wearing his silver wolf pendant, the weak candle light glinting off the metal.

The name is familiar. “Ah, the White Wolf.” Jaskier cheerfully says, noticing how Geralt is tensed. He knows what the other man is expecting -- _the Butcher of Blaviken_ \-- but instead, Jaskier reaches out and taps a nail against the pendant. “That explains this, at least.”

Geralt relaxes, minutely, and Jaskier knows he’s passed two tests. First, showing no fear in face of Geralt’s reputation, and Second, being unharmed by silver. Which is terribly silly of the man, because in fact, by all rights, the necklace _should_ hurt Jaskier. It is a symbol of faith, after all, a representation of the beliefs by which the Witchers hunt. That Geralt apparently doesn’t hold to those beliefs is... interesting, to say the least.

All this flashes through Jaskier’s mind in a moment, before he leans forward and kisses Geralt again. Making a noise low in his throat, Geralt walks Jaskier backwards across the room. He pins Jaskier to the wall, kissing him deeply and with clear demand.

The fact that it’s such a fantastic kiss is why it takes so long for Jaskier to realize that things have gone wrong. Geralt’s movements against him gradually slow, and the Witcher pulls back. With a whine, Jaskier goes to follow, but is held back by Geralt’s hand on his chest.

His chest, which no longer contains a beating heart.

“Oh, shit.” Jaskier says faintly, and then begins to see stars when Geralt yanks him forward, and then shoves him roughly back into the wall.

“Vampire.” Geralt hisses, leaning in close. His eyes are practically blazing with fury, and at least that's a hell of a sight to see before death, Jaskier thinks. “You were planning to feed on me.”

Trying to gather his scattered wits, Jaskier huffs, incredulously. “What? No! I just wanted to fuck you. Or be fucked by. I’m not picky.”

“Liar.” Geralt yells, repeating the action and throwing Jaskier against the wall action once more.

Realizing that he has a _very_ small window of time before things get worse, not-heart in his throat, Jaskier bangs his heel against the floor, twice.

Head snapping up to stare at him, Geralt narrows his eyes. “What was that?”

Before he can reply, the door swings open. Maja stalks in, and gods bless her, quickly swings to train her crossbow on Geralt’s head. “Let him go.” She says, remarkably calm, considering the situation.

“He’s a vampire.” Geralt snaps. “A monster.”

“He’s my friend.” Maja shoots back.

Clearing his throat, Jaskier can’t resist letting loose a piece of song; “ _So here is a riddle to guess if you can, sing the bells of Blaviken; What makes a monster and what makes a man_ _?_ ”

Geralt visibly flinches, grip slackening. Jaskier takes the opportunity to twist away and skitter back. He might be hiding behind Maja; he isn’t proud of that.

Recovering, Geralt turns and his hand twitches for one of his swords. “Don’t.” Maja snaps. “I’ll refund you the cost of the room, if you leave now, and without harming Jaskier.” Biting back a slightly hysterical laugh, Jaskier realizes he never introduced himself to Geralt. Oh, well. It’s obvious from context who Maja is talking about.

“But--” Geralt is wrong-footed, confused. “He’s a vampire.” As if repeating that fact would change Maja’s mind. 

“A vegetarian one,” Jaskier quips. “Well, in the sense that I feed off animals. And the occasional human,” Geralt’s expression immediately darkens, like a lightning storm appearing on the horizon, and Jasker hurries to clear the air. “Only those who willingly consent!” He quickly adds. “Not everyone fears vampires.”

As a Witcher, Geralt is probably well-aware of this fact, judging by the tightening of the corner of his mouth. “You’ve never hurt _anyone_?”

“Not for a hundred and fifty years, I swear on my grave.” Jaskier is earnest, speaking the truth. “And back then, it was at the behest of the one that squired me.” Something flickers in Geralt’s expression, and Jaskier presses the advantage. “Can you say that you’ve _never_ spilled the blood of the undeserving?”

With a growl, Geralt jerks his hand back down. Then, keeping one eye on Maja, he begins to gather his bags. “I will listen out,” He tells them. “And if I hear word of a vampire preying on these parts -- I will not extend my mercy a second time.”

“Excellent! Thank you, so very much. I will write a ballad, extolling the virtues of the White Wol--oof.” Jaskier is cut off by Maja elbowing him sharply in the stomach. She shoots him a look, clearly saying not to press his luck.

It might just be the shadows of the room, but Jaskier would swear that there’s a hint of amusement in Geralt’s expression as he grabs the last of his things.

Both Maja and Jaskier move out of the way, as Geralt begins to walk over. “In my pocket,” Maja says to Jaskier. Knowing what she means, he reaches into her apron and drags out a stack of coin. This he drops into Geralt’s outstretched, waiting hand.

There’s a tense moment, Geralt staring him down, that Jaskier thinks he’ll renege on his word, and kill Jaskier anyway. But, finally, with a huff of contempt, Geralt shakes his head once and stalks out of the room.

They listen to the sound of his heavy tread, down the hall and descending the stairs. Then Maja spins around and whips her arm out to hit Jaskier in his chest. “What were you thinking? I _told_ you!” Now that the danger is past, her nerves have made their appearance.

“Maja, my heart, the sun to my moon,” Jaskier begins, grabbing her hand in both of his. “How can I ever repay you, for defending my honor?”

“Your life,” Maja corrects, yanking her hand back. “You have no honor.” The words would sting more, if they hadn’t been spoken with such obvious fondness. “For this? Consider the life-debt to be repaid.”

Jaskier’s stomach sinks. “Ah. That. Well, I suppose then, I shall be on my way--” 

“Don’t be an idiot.” Maja rolls her eyes. “Where would I find a new bard, especially one with no interest in what’s under my skirts? No, you won’t be rid of me that easily.”

Tension _finally_ seeping out, Jaskier’s shoulders relax. “Thank you.” His earnestness makes her flush slightly and look away. Jaskier regards her fondly, his friend, his sister of not blood but heart. “Well!” He claps his hands together. “I think, after that, I could use a drink.”

Maja just shakes her head and laughs, long and relieved

***

_I wanted to be brave and I wanted to be right. And I needed to make up my fucking mind. 'Cause I am the one, when push comes to shove, who knows my every angle and the depth of damage done, so I turned my back on the sun._

**Author's Note:**

> Story title & lyrics at the end are from the song "[Sun](https://ericafreas.bandcamp.com/track/sun-2)" by Erica Freas. 
> 
> And the lyrics Jaskier throws at Geralt, of course, are modified from "The Bells of Notre-Dame (reprise)" from the Disney adaptation of The Hunchback of Notre-Dame.
> 
> Thanks for reading!


End file.
